And in the midst of this scene of affection, comes Pasquale, smiling affably, and bearing an immense bouquet of roses.
“For La Signora Cam-el,” he said. “A gen-man presents with compliments.”
“But who—what gentleman?” demanded Miss Campbell.
“I cannot say, Signora. They are of Sacremen’—these roses here. They came thisa morning by express, in the diligenza from the valley.”
“Where is the gentleman?” asked Billie.
Pasquale shrugged his shoulders almost to his ears and spread his hands out apologetically. Then he disappeared into the inn and presently returned with bouquets for each of the girls. Evelyn’s was as large as Miss Campbell’s, of roses, and the younger girls were smaller bunches of heliotrope, which gave out a delicious fragrance.
“Is he here at this inn?” demanded Nancy, burning with curiosity.
“No, signorina, the gentleman, he coma after the flowers.”
“Mystery of mysteries,” exclaimed Miss Campbell. “Who can it be?”
“It’s just like Mr. Ignatius Donahue,” said Elinor.